be the light i can see, the everything i can touch
by lachrymoseorange
Summary: Hades puts a seal on Emma's magic, so when she tries to help, she can only hurt... But this is only the beginning. Underworld reunion/salvation canon divergence wrought by my smashed hopes and dreams.
1. Chapter 1

Be the Light I Can See, the Everything I Can Touch

 _part one_

 **let my love in [lay your heart on me]**

The lord of the Underworld lounged in his throne of molding corpses and bones bleached white with time, admiring his own brilliance as he twirled the accursed seal in his palm. His hand, while not obviously overplayed, would draw the Swan woman and her posse deep into his toxic web, where he would be patiently waiting like the spider he was. His mouth grew wet just thinking of the fun he would soon be having – endless hours of torture and fawning at his feet.

Mayhap he could even bribe one or two of them to stick around for a while longer. He was nearly beside himself with anticipation until a grating voice shirked him from his reverie, and he turned his attention to the newest addition to his collection.

"I've long since learned to dread that smile on your face, dearie. Care to share?"

He chortled to himself, suddenly realizing he'd forgotten the Dark One he'd locked in the dungeon of his torture chamber – his favorite room in all his realm. "As a matter of fact, yes. I would absolutely _love_ to share with you my plan to entrap the Savior and her family in that little cell next to yours."

The man behind the bars didn't even blink. "Is it wise to assert yourself in such a game, when it is only the pirate you are after?"

"Oh, _dearie_ ," he sneered, "of course. My plans always keep. By the time they realize what I've done, the pirate will be begging for merciful death to claim him – it's really a shame he's already there, is it not? – and the Savior will have no choice but to accept my deal."

The other man was silent, but that was the only encouragement Hades needed to continue. "Just you wait, Dark One. My home will soon be filled with my beloved pets."

* * *

She idly wondered if gravity worked any differently here than in Storybrooke, or if the weight on her chest was simply metaphorically becoming harder to bear. There was too much at stake, too many chains weighing down her hands and feet and stifling her every move. Her family would stick beside her through the thick and thin, but they wouldn't have even _been_ here had she moved on, accepted fate and the fact that the love of her life was dead and rotting in Dante's _Inferno._

But she'd led them here, after all, and they were counting on her to keep them alive long enough to return to the worlds of the living, to everyone else they cared about. Even through the haze of her determination, the questions still sprung up, unbidden and cruel.

Would it be her fault when her baby brother was left an orphan?

Would she be to blame when Henry never had the chance to grow up?

No matter where she looked, she was still at the heart of it all, and somehow she managed to find ways to rationalize it whenever she needed to defend herself to herself.

She'd gotten this far with the mantra in her head: _You will get them out of here, Emma. You will. There's no other alternative._ She wasn't about to give up now, not when they were already so close.

Turning away from her morbid thoughts to Killian limping beside her, miserable and bloody and exhausted, she decided that she could do this. She _would_ do this. She would do this for him, for them, and for all of their futures.

The group trudged under Regina's cloaking spell through the square of Underbrooke, somber and quiet and absorbed in their own thoughts. Her parents led the procession, with Henry and Regina not far behind, while she and Killian held up the rear, several paces away so that the sound of Regina's heels was barely distinguishable in the hot, musty wind.

The pirate was struggling to keep pace with her, his breaths short and ragged as he stumbled onward, hand and hook folded against his middle.

"Hey," she whispered, fingers gently curling around his elbow. "Do you want to rest for a minute?"

Bright blue eyes peered down at her, and though she knew he was covered in blood and burns and cuts, all she could see was the timid relief in his face as she reached for him.

His hair was matted over his forehead, his scruff long and soft under her fingertips, and for a moment she felt as though she could forget where they were and why they were there. But then his jaw clenched as another wave of pain seemed to wash through him anew, and he swayed forward, eyes sliding shut.

She caught him easily, holding him to her as tightly as she dared, steadying herself in the process. No more harm could come to him now that she stood at his side, and if it tried, it would have to go through her first.

"C'mon. Let's get you home and cleaned up," she said, stepping away only once she was sure he had his bearings, keeping an arm securely around his waist. "And if you behave, I might even sneak a bottle of rum past my parents."

It was only the second smile he'd given her since his rescue and she couldn't keep a smirk of her own off her face at its unexpected appearance. "You know me almost _too_ scrupulously, Swan."

"You say that like it's not a good thing."

He coughed out a laugh, grinning down at her with a sly look in his eye. "You're in love with a pirate, darling. We're notoriously known for being up to no good."

* * *

She had him lie down on her bed once they'd arrived at the loft. Downstairs, her parents and Regina circled the kitchen island, discussing plans and tactics and magical elements in muted tones (and completely ignored her when she'd tiptoed past with a bottle of rum hidden in her jacket). Henry had closed himself off in his room, taking out the frustration of writer's block on his notebook, tearing out page after page and crumpling them into balls to be tossed in the trash.

Her attention was brought back to Killian as he winced against the pillows, the quilt creasing underneath his tender back. His breathing had settled marginally since he could stretch out and take some of the weight off his ribs and sprained ankle. She'd already helped him shuck his leather jacket and shoes and untuck his belt, weakly hoping he could rest a mite more comfortably until she could summon forth her powers and heal all his hurts and magic him into some pajamas.

She was beyond terrified to even try to perform such a menial task.

Memories from the last time she healed him threatened to overtake her, but she pushed back just as stubbornly, refusing to let her fear keep her from soothing the man she loved.

Gingerly, she sat on the bed, leaning forward enough to press a quick kiss to his lips, tasting the spicy sweetness of his skin. "Are you sure you can handle this, Captain?" she asked jokingly to cover her unease.

Another smile lit up his face. "Oh, I'm almost _certain_ I can, love."

She returned it briefly before closing her eyes, concentrating, imagining her pool of magic to be something solid, something she could grab, and reached for it, easing the familiar warmth into her fingertips and onto his skin.

She didn't hear his agonized screams until too many seconds too late.

Her eyes wrenched themselves open to find him struggling to get away from her, breathy sobs breaking from his chest, tears of pain and exertion falling down his face and forging trails through the grime she'd meant to erase. His body writhed, muscles clenching and unclenching as the spasms continued. "Emma," he stammered, pleading and desperate. "It hurt – hurts..."

She immediately pulled away, yanking her hands from his skin, shame and apologies and more shame and unshakable fear screaming through her as she stepped from the bed.

"Killian – oh, God, I'm so – I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Emma!" her mother's shout came, followed by several sets of footsteps mounting the stairs to the loft. "What's going on? What –"

She felt her father's arms wrap around her shaking frame, heard him whispering that it wasn't her fault, but her guilt-stricken eyes never left Killian.

Now that she was no longer touching him, he'd calmed slightly, body heaving as he curled in on himself. She wasn't sure he was even conscious as Snow approached the bed and placed soothing hands on his hair and shoulder.

"Emma, what happened?"

"I – I was just trying to – to heal him, but my magic… I don't know what's happen – happening to me," she wept. "I didn't want to hurt him – I _never_ want to hurt him."

Her father shushed her quietly, hugging her to him. "Emma, we know that. He'll be okay. This is not your fault, are you hearing me? We'll figure this out." Her mother quickly murmured her own agreement, eyes wet, as she added her arms to the embrace.

"Emma," Killian rasped weakly, hand reaching for her, and her parents released their hold, inching back downstairs, but she found she couldn't take a step closer, too afraid she'd only hurt him further.

She'd already done enough damage as it was.

"Please," he whimpered, quietly enough to shatter her heart with the single syllable. He choked on another sob when he saw she hadn't moved, turning his face deeper into the pillows, and she broke as he did.

Her feet were laden with iron and her pulse thrummed loudly in her ears as she crept to the bed, coming to lie down beside him, careful not to touch him or jostle the bed or breathe loudly or crowd him.

He wasn't having any of it, however, instead – automatically, unflinchingly, _fearlessly_ – tucking himself closer to her, his head on her chest, his hand gripping the fabric of her shirt, breathing a shaky sigh against her collarbone.

"Stay?" he slurred, already half asleep.

She ran one hand through his hair and settled the other lightly under his ribs. "I'm not going anywhere, not without you," she murmured, kissing his forehead.

Once he had relaxed fully into her, she whispered the words to his slumbering form, pressed the feeling into his skin with her lips.

"I love you."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Part 2 tomorrow! Hopefully. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note** : So I lied, just a little, and I'm sorry. It was all to built suspense, sure, yeah, whatever. Part 3 soon, I promise. Until then, enjoy my attempt at making this an actual divergence piece... Excuse any errors, and please pardon my French. ;)

* * *

 _part two_

 **if the sky comes falling down for you [there's nothing in this world i wouldn't do]**

A crash, or perhaps a gunshot, jolted her from sleep, and her eyes searched the room wildly, scanning for threats, for Hades, for Cruella, Gold and Henry and Killian and her parents – but the house was quiet. _A dream_ , her mind comforted. She felt Killian beside her, _he's okay, he's okay_ , beating in her breast as her heart slowed and she relaxed back into the pillows. He slept on fitfully, his eyebrows creased, his breathing shallow.

Even asleep he was in pain – and she could do nothing about it.

Hazy, burnt orange light filtered in from the skylights, bathing the room in muted, ugly shades that darkened the shadows and bruises on her pirate's face. He groaned quietly, pressing further into her side.

"Killian?" she asked, hands tracing the line of his jaw. "Hook?"

He woke suddenly with a gasp, sitting up, eyes blinking open.

"You okay?" she whispered, following him. Feeling him shiver in spite of the dry heat of the room, she wrapped her arms around his torso, gently enough so as not to agitate his aching ribs or tender skin or stinging cuts –

"Sorry, love, I –" The words were broken, and some vital chunk of her heart chipped off at watching her beautiful, brave pirate tremble – in fear and pain and sadness and guilt at something he had no control over.

"Hush. You don't need to apologize for anything."

A choked noise that was probably supposed to be a laugh spilled from his throat. "Is that so, love? If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this quandary, wouldn't be immersed in a battle of wits against Death's deity, wouldn't even _be here_ –"

"Killian, stop –"

"No, Emma, please," he nearly shouted, pushing out of her arms and standing, grabbing for the chest of drawers when his balance wavered. "I'm not worth this. I'm not worth putting your _family_ at risk –"

Something inside her snapped and a volcano had to be erupting somewhere and she couldn't handle it anymore, the words burning in her throat like acidic lava. " _No_. You listen to me, Killian Jones. You _are_ worth it – because _love_ is worth it, and I will spend every fucking day for the rest of our lives trying to get that through your thick skull if I have to, so _please._ " Her voice broke and her eyes closed against the emotions burbling through her, unable to watch how his face, his eyes, his knees – as they all _crumbled._

" _Please_ let me love you."

* * *

Sometime near the end of her outburst, he found himself collapsing forward as the days upon days of torture caught up with him, the never-ending and overwhelming agony that nearly brought him to his knees stinging along his skin –

 _Every lash of the whip as it slit marks into his flesh._

 _Every twitch of Hades' tongue sparked flames within him so that each breath burned._

 _Every bolt of terror gulping against his heart as he relived all that he had done, all that he deserved._

He was gasping, gagging on the pain and wondering how many times a heart can be torn in half and still be expected to beat. There was nothing left to him, nothing from which to borrow strength, and he implored the gods to grant even a semblance of _something_ to hold onto.

"Emma," he whispered, gritting the words out from underneath the tears and anguish, hardly able to look at the all-encompassing beauty he knew she possessed in every fiber of her being. She was so beautiful – _God,_ she was – and he was so fucking reprehensible, so beyond anything resembling redeemable.

 _But I love her._

And he did fall to his knees before her, no longer able to stand under his own strength, no longer able to swallow back the misery.

He would never deserve her – not the warmth in her arms as they came softly 'round him, pulling him back form the edge, not her ability to soothe the thumping of the blazing blood in his veins, not the loving words pouring from her mouth, not the honeyed scent of her skin filling him with every breath, driving away the hot, gurgling sickness in his belly.

Forcing himself to calm enough to see her clearly, he tried sitting up straighter, tried ignoring the protestations of his ribs and stomach and back and wrist and mind.

"I wish I could heal you, Killian," Emma said quietly, her hand running gentle circles over his chest. She was sitting cross-legged and leaning toward him, all golden hair and silky skin. "I'm so sorry about… about yesterday."

He could recall the absolute _fire_ engulfing every cell in his body as it scorched jagged holes in his heart, and he winced without meaning to. "Is that Hades' doing, do you think?" he asked, his voice roughened by fatigue and pain and self-loathing.

She hummed, a frown wrinkling her brow. "Probably. He's likely the only one strong enough to be able to, since my magic is, well, whatever it is…"

A snort of laughter ached in his throat at the innocent simplicity in her statement, but he couldn't release it – too terrified it would only bring more suffering upon his battered lungs.

Shaking her head after a moment, she muttered, "God, I just wish we could just get the hell out of here – no confrontation with the god of death trying to kill us, no dealing with pissed off souls seeking revenge."

And he wanted it so badly, hoping against hope that he could return to his future with his Savior. But the sinking feeling in his gut refused to dissipate, and he was suddenly so exhausted he could hardly twitch his eyes open, though he was murmuring his agreement into her hair nonetheless.

He felt her gaze touch him, and he peered out at her from beneath heavy lids, shocked at the burning intensity in her green eyes. "I'll get you out of here, Killian," she promised, rising and slowly easing him up with her. "Get some rest while I talk to Regina – we got ourselves an immortal to fry."

* * *

He struggled awake sometime later, a weight on his chest and the nauseating sensation of being unable to breathe, unable to scream, unable to move –

At the cool brush of fingertips on his fevered cheek, he opened his eyes, out of breath and quaking in fear of a nonexistent threat. "Babe, you doin' all right?" Emma whispered above him, concerned.

He settled back into the pillows before closing his eyes again, weary of the pain lapping at his conscience. "I'm just so tired, Emma."

His Emma, his beautiful and all-knowing Emma – he could taste her understanding in the gentle press of her lips over his. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

Longing and desperation and loss welled up behind his eyes, and he bit down on his lip – hard enough for this new pain to distraction him somewhat from the boiling water his heart was slipping into and it fucking _hurt_ , so much more unbearably than before.

 _Killian, stop it. She'll find a way. She always does. Be calm. Calm._

Breathing was only just becoming less of a hardship when he heard a set of footsteps – not Emma's boots nor Henry's sneakers, not even Regina's stilts – climbing the stairs.

"Killian, there's someone here to see you," she was saying, and then his eyes were lurching open and his fingers were clenching around the palm offered to him and he couldn't stop the tears this time and he was _drowning_ but his feet were firmly planted on the floor –

"Lands, little brother," he said, his voice as warm and throaty as he remembered, "when was the last time you cut your hair? Hasn't anyone ever told you it's bad form to dress as a beggar?"

The brother who haunted his dreams and his every waking moment stood before him and Killian couldn't move, no, not an inch or even a finger – and his heart stopped, he would bloody swear it did.

"Younger brother," he whispered, so quiet and rough it was almost inaudible.

Liam's face – his dear, beloved face – broke into a smile that he could have mistaken for sunshine tearing through a patch of clouds. "Liam –"

"Hush now, brother, there's time for that later," he said, roughened fingers swiping at the wetness on Killian's face. "Your bloody brilliant woman has hatched a plan to defeat Hades, while I've been ordered to keep an eye on you, keep you from going off and acting the hero."

Killian's gaze swept to Emma, who was smiling near the stairs, hip leaned against the railing. "You're too weak to fight, Killian, but I can't heal you, and Regina needs to conserve what she has left, since we're not sure how this place works –"

Liam, apparently eager to share his part in this, clenched his hand tightly around his brother's. "You remember the Jewel you and I discovered that night so long ago? According to hidden legend, it's a piece of the Olympian Crystal – the only thing that can be used to kill a god. And," he said, "it just so happens that I have acquired it."

"Are you… certain?" Killian asked, nearly speechless at how the tides had turned, swirling him around on his head until he couldn't see straight anymore.

Emma shrugged. "Not 100%, no, but it's the best plan we've got. Besides, if we throw the rock at him and nothing happens, Regina will transport us out of there and we'll start looking for the Author's Pen again."

"But what about getting back to Storybrooke? What of Liam?" he pressed, brows furrowed, his mind racing. "And I'll still be dead –"

"Killian, just listen," Emma cut in, impatient. "We think that between Regina, me, and the Crystal, we'll have enough power to forge open a portal, but before we do that, the legend also states that deep underground – the Under-Underworld, I guess – is a fountain: _la Fontoine de la Vie_ , or the Fountain of Life. One drop of its water is said to restore any _coeur brisé_. Any broken heart."

He swallowed against the disbelief and doubt rising in his throat, and glanced instead at his brother. Liam was already watching him, eager blue eyes bright and familiar.

"Well, I would follow you both to the edges of the world," he said, a flush tinting his cheeks. "If you believe this will work, there won't be any opposition. Not from me."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note** : So let's just pretend Zelena and Hades' arc never existed and that Emma, Regina, Henry, Snow, David, and Gold were the only ones to go to the Underworld, 'kaythanksbye.

* * *

 _part three_

 **smoke rise [trying to survive inside your arms]**

The globe spun around and around its tilted axis, and he twirled it faster with a nimble twist of his finger – searching, searching, always searching. Black and white strokes outlined the scenes before him, like a moving picture show, transforming and changing as time ticked on, as he flipped through the angles like a book.

He stomped his palm against the glowing orb, pausing it on one blurry room, as the Swan woman, her parents, and the former Evil Queen conspired against him in a dilapidated kitchen somewhere in his realm.

He wracked his mind, flipping through the drawers in the deep recesses of his brain, but could not recall where they were, and the spinning earth in front of him told him little. While helpful, even the globe had its limits, and though he knew his world like the back of his hand, nooks and crannies such as this house sometimes – only rarely – escaped him.

He'd barely resigned himself to sending another Hellhound – albeit half reluctant, half eager – to seek them out when the scene changed. Suddenly, he was watching the group as they transported themselves in a puff of smoke to the center of the town, to the crumbling clock tower.

Unable to help himself, he cackled, realizing what they planned to do. He apparently had overestimated this Swan woman's affections for her True Love – as there clearly had been some type of falling out between them judging by the angry tears glimmering in her eyes – and even now the be-damned pirate was nowhere to be found.

They were opening a portal.

And leaving Hook behind.

There was no way he could miss the resulting tempest – it was simply too delectable of an opportunity to pass up.

Smirking, he yanked his cloak from the coat rack. "Hold down the fort while I deal with these lunatics you brought here. How you managed to keep from killing them as of yet is beyond me, Rumpel, though I greatly admire you for being able to do so."

The Dark One said nothing, simply continuing to pace around his cell with steepled fingers, watching, feigning boredom, as the god of Death disappeared in a murky cloud.

 _Ta-ta for now, dearie. The fun is only just beginning._

* * *

There wasn't much to it, they said. A simple skip-grab, or skip-throw as the case may have been – according to Emma – and he believed them. Though it wasn't that he had any real choice. Between his brother and his beloved, there was very little he had been willing to do to even try and sway them from their plan, half-cooked scheme or no, fighting to destroy an omniscient, all-powerful god or not.

To go against his brother? That day would never come.

More beside the point, Emma could be very persuasive when she needed to be.

He and Liam were instructed to wait inside the loft, out of sight, to lessen the chances of Hades turning his fury onto them while Regina, Snow, David, and Emma lured Hades to the clock tower under the guise of fashioning the portal out of Underbrooke.

While it chafed him to be left behind with Henry at the loft, he knew it was for the best. The wrath Hades had already bestowed upon him scarred him far too heavily still to be anything but a liability, and he was not about to be the one placing Emma and her loved ones in undue danger.

But it didn't stop him from limping to the loft's window to peer out, nor from stilling at every creak of the walls around him or jumping at every noise the teenager made downstairs.

Liam watched with vague amusement – he knew of Killian's distaste for waiting – as Killian trudged restlessly about the room, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

"How I've missed being laughed at by you, brother," he said, turning to face the older Jones.

Liam grinned outright at that. "I have missed you as well, Killian. Fervently so."

Killian rolled his eyes, but could find nothing more to say as he followed his brother's movements – the way he rose from his seat to stand beside him at the window, shoulders straight and proud; the way he scratched at the twist of curls behind his ear; the way his steps were solid, certain, never-wavering.

His brother laughed lightly – just a quick gnash of white teeth – before sobering. "I imagined seeing you again in so many different ways, Killian, and each time I had it all planned out – what I would say, how I would react, what kind of man you would be. And yet, I'm speechless, because it feels as though we were only separated yesterday. Nothing feels any different," he said, pushing the curtain aside to look outside, at the street below them. "Is that very strange?" he asked, turning to him, gaze timid yet assured.

It took him a while to dig out his voice, the words, and the ability to say all he felt. 300 years had come and gone, swinging wildly and leaving him far worse for wear – and yet, his brother remained as constant as the tides, and he could feel that truth pulsing deep in his bones, tugging at his heartstrings.

When he finally mustered up the strength to respond, the syllables were hoarse and stilted. "It's not strange, Liam. I feel the same. I see you, exactly as I always have."

Liam's strong arm fell over his shoulders then, tucking Killian against his side, and he vowed to himself that he wouldn't – _couldn't_ – break. Not yet. Not until everyone he loved stood safely in the realm of the living, until the air was allowed to fill his lungs and ignite the fire that once burned so brightly in his soul.

They stood together in easy silence for a while, long enough for his heart to steady itself with the knowledge that maybe happy endings came in little bites at a time – small enough for him to swallow without choking but never leaving him always aching for more.

* * *

She thought it wasn't possible to absolutely _loathe_ someone more than she already hated Hades, but that theory was proved wrong as soon as his ugly mug appeared a few feet in front of her. She was burning with the force of it, her fingers shaking and her eyesight blurring with tears.

She would crunch his fucking neck between her palms if he so much as _breathed_ the wrong way.

But then he was speaking, and she thought the least she could do was allow him a few last words.

"My, my, Savior. Did you really think you all could just prance out of hell without me noticing?"

She snorted a laugh, feeling the anger pulsing behind her temples, biding it until the time was right. "Actually, that's what we were counting on," she spat, seeing Regina lift her hands in her peripheral vision, hearing the draw snap of her mother's bow behind her, the clang of metal of her father's sword.

Then she was lifting the Jewel of the Realm, drawing on the hideous magic Hades sealed and stuck her with, remembering the downright _agony_ he put Killian through, the terror in her veins as she fought with the darkness inside her, and sparked a powerful, oozing white flame to the Crystal in her palm.

She felt the energy running through her, felt it coming alive in every single nerve fiber. She was ablaze with it as it pulsed in waves, ricocheting directly into the god of the Underworld's chest, where his deadened heart rotted, tossing flicks of rainbow-colored light through the dusty, reddened air.

The noises he made as nonexistence claimed him. His face as he was absorbed into the dark depths of nothingness. The seizing of his body as his skin splintered into tiny granules of black dust.

Soon, the stench of rotting corpses was all that remained. It was as if he had never been there at all.

She thought it was more than she could ever hope for, until a swirling, inky mass of what appeared to be stars twitched and came alive at her feet, a fierce, howling wind picking up around them, sucking her in.

A portal.

It worked – and she tried ignoring the flush of pleasure at being able to do something without needing Regina's help, before the reality set in around her.

It was too early, too fast, too soon. They still needed to find _la Fontoine_ and revive Killian and his brother – and it was only a matter of time before the occupants of hell would come barreling through the town square at the commotion of defeating Hades.

A plan was forming in her mind, but it was all she could do to keep it together, to force away the last vestiges of power that had rushed through her in igniting the Crystal.

"Regina!" she screamed over the wind, fighting the portal's insistent tug. "Can you cloak this?"

The Queen hollered back, "No, but I think I can hold off anyone who tries to come close."

"Dad, stay with Regina as backup. Mom, come with me so you can get Henry back here while I search for the Fountain with Killian and Liam."

She didn't bother looking back to see if anyone was listening, turning away and sprinting toward the loft. She was already running out of time, and she was afraid of attempting to poof herself anywhere; a violent trembling had begun deep inside of her, from exhaustion or coming off the high of the power, she didn't know. All she knew was that they had maybe 15 minutes to find the Fountain and get back to the portal before the townspeople started causing problems, and that she had to get to her boys.

She had to get them to safety.

Her feet pounded the pavement with her mother hot on her heels, and she sent silent prayers to whatever heaven or hell existed now that she knew gods could be killed.

 _Please, please, let us out. Let us out. Let us out!_

And she thought they were listening.

But there was nothing to be done when the world started crumbling beneath her, fizzling into the same nothingness that swallowed Hades in its black dust as tremors rocked the earth, the realm, the whole fucking goddamned _universe_ and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop it.


End file.
